


The Warlock's Creation

by Linorien



Series: 007 Fest 2018 [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien
Summary: prompt: fantasy AU where Bond is a sentient weapon





	The Warlock's Creation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voculae (northernMagic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernMagic/gifts).



[ ](https://imgur.com/5Y6HlZw)

It was an overcast, rainy day with a chill breeze in the air. That is to say, it was a typical day in Lundin. The wind played with the tails of Q’s coat as he walked along the riverbank, face down to avoid the rain.

For all his cleverness, he had forgotten his umbrella. He was quite sure his grandmother would scold him and send him for a hot shower when he got home. He could try to ask for a drying spell, but she’d refuse.

“You must learn that actions have consequences,” she’d scold. And she was right, of course she was. He knew all about the scales of the world. Despite having no magic of his own, they helped him create portals into other dimensions for those who could afford it. A simple twist in reality as he moved his paintbrush across each canvas.

Someday he would step through a painting. Vanish into a world where magic was but a legend. He kicked his feet as he walked, splashing water everywhere.

“Hey! Watch what you’re kicking!”

Q stopped. He looked around. There was no one there. Probably some stupid kids with a voice projection charm.

“Look down.”

He couldn’t tell you why he listened, but he did. He looked down and he saw an oddly shaped object, almost like a 7, and it was not made of any material he recognised. When he picked it up, it was cold, and smooth to the touch.

“Thank you. I can’t stand the rain.”

“Why didn’t you move out of it?” Q asked.

“You’re right, I should’ve just walked away. I might’ve if my creator had actually built me with autonomy. But no, he only saw me as a weapon. A tool.”

The creation of an inventor! He wondered which one. They were an elite class of warlocks, shrouded in mystery. Perhaps if he returned this, they would welcome him in, show him around. He had so many ideas but all he could do was create them with paint. Only his patrons could hold them. “Who was your creator?”

“Look, do we have to talk about this now? I just want to get out of this infernal rain.”

“Right. Of course.” Q jammed the weapon in his coat pocket and hurried home. He, too, wanted out of the rain.

 

* * *

 

After the predicted scolding, shower, and soup, Q sat on the floor and gingerly dried the weapon with a towel.

“A towel?”

“What do you you expect me to use? You wanted to be dry, didn’t you?” Honestly, if this thing expected to be dried with a a high quality silk or something, it would get tossed right back out into the rain.

“With magic of course.”

Oh. “I don’t have any,” Q admitted.

The weapon stayed silent as he finished wiping it off, careful not to press too hard for fear of a hidden trigger.

“Do you wish you did?”

“I don’t mind being without. I have to work a little harder, but hard work is rewarding. Though sometimes I wish others didn’t have it.” Especially the little gang on Fourth Street who harassed him and used magic to hide his shop for two weeks.

Q set the weapon down on the floor. It glinted in the light.

“I can help. Make it so they never bother you again.”

Q sat back. He didn’t think he said that last bit out loud. “They?”

“A wish like that usually has a target.”

“Oh. And you can help?” He didn’t know how a warlock’s weapon would help him.

“I can rob them of their magic.”

Q was stunned. How many times had he wished that upon others? The gang who made his walk into a terror. The patrons who paid in false silver when they could afford the price anyway. The parents who had left him.

“You can do that?”

“That was my purpose. To stop people from fighting back with magic.”

“Do they ever get their magic back?”

“Not usually. You have to be sure.”

Q thought of the gang. “I’m sure,” he said. “What do I have to do?”

The weapon glittered in the dying light. “It’s a simple trigger. All you have to do it point and shoot.”


End file.
